Moments in Time
by xLadyJackal
Summary: Good times escape while every mistake seems to be caught on tape. Drabbles, mostly AU. Characters so far: Adelle DeWitt, Madeleine Costley, Claire Saunders.
1. Adelle DeWitt

_A/N: In the spirit of Dollhouse coming back Friday, have a few drabbles! This one is about Adelle after the events of Spy in the House of Love, written for frerak._

Her entire body aches with exhaustion and she thinks that she should know how important sleep is. She realizes that it is foolish of her to get to the House before dawn and work until she finally collapses into her bed long after midnight, but there always seem to be things to do, more important than sleep.

Her eyes tremble with soreness as she reads over a form and she tries to remember a time when her vision wasn't blurred with fatigue. She stops because it hurts to think back that far. She places her signature by the x.

It occurs to her that he would've noticed, would've expressed concern, would've forced her to listen to what her body was telling her….

No one notices. No one mentions. She keeps her manic pace.

She works to fill the holes he left in her day, to force herself into a brief sleep at night without thoughts of him, dreams of him.

She won't let herself admit that she misses him.


	2. Claire Saunders

_A/N: I never thought Claire and Paul would get along._

Agent Ballard is, as usual, spouting his "Dolls aren't people" philosophy. Topher has learned to block him out, but this is the first time Dr. Saunders has heard this particular tirade.

"The Actives _are_ people," she says with conviction, looking up from a file.

"Oh, yeah? How do you figure?" Ballard inquires.

"How can you say that they aren't?" the doctor rebuts, aghast.

"Uh, well, maybe because they have no personality?" he replies, words dripping with sarcasm.

"Just because they no longer have their _original_ personality," Saunders says coldly, standing, "does _not_ mean that they have no personality, even in their tabula rasa state."

"Oh, really?"

"Look at them!" she points out at the relaxed Actives, "They're kind. They're polite. They're _happy._"

"They only _think_ they're happy," he gestures, punctuating his opinion. Topher watches for the doctor's reaction.

"Isn't that what happiness is? It's a _feeling._ So what if they're programmed to feel it?" she shakes her head, watching the yoga class, "Besides, you cannot possibly insinuate that we treat them badly here," she is practically spitting her words out now.

"You whore them out!" he exclaims, voice growing in volume, "What they do on engagements-"

"They choose to do! That's _why_ we imprint! So that they are _people_-" she reminds him of his initial point "-who _want_ to do the things they're paid to do!"

"The imprints are _not_ people."

"_I am a person,_" she growls. Ballard takes a step back, shocked, "I have a personality. I have wants and needs. I have memories that are real to me, even though I know they're fake," she takes a deep, steadying breath and closes her eyes for a moment, "I'm a person," she finishes, "I know who I am," she glances at Topher, then at Ballard, before she walks out.

"She's a Doll?" Ballard asks, stunned. Topher nods, and then pauses.

"She's a doctor," he corrects himself.


	3. Madeleine Costley

_A/N: I wrote this for me, definitely AU, curious what others might think of it. Let me know._

I stared at the phone in my hands.

What do you say to your mother after you've been gone for almost five years?

"Hey, Mom. Sorry I missed my daughter's funeral. I was having my mind erased by a secret organization."

A knock interrupted my thoughts. I put the phone back on the counter and padded, barefoot, across the carpet to the door.

"Ms. Costley?"

"Hey. Guy from the Dollhouse, right?"

"Paul," he said, "Paul Ballard."

"Mr. Ballard," I repeated, "Is anything wrong? Did I forget to sign something?" Thoughts of having to return, 'this was all a mistake, I'm sorry, could you please come with me?' filled my mind.

"No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right, Ms. Costley."

"Maddie, please, Mr. Ballard." People had been calling me by other names for the past five years. I wanted someone to call me by my own. He smiled a little.

"Paul."

"Well, Paul," I said with a smile, "as you can see, I'm doing fine. In fact," I glanced over my shoulder, "I'm just about to take some lasagna out of the oven. Would you care to join me?" Normally, I wouldn't ask strange men affiliated with questionable organizations into my home, but my empty apartment was quiet and lonely and he had such a kind, somehow familiar face. I looked at him hopefully.

"I would love to," he paused a little, examining my face, "Maddie."


End file.
